The atmosphere grew tense, the air thick with silence. Then, Maurice broke into laughter. The sharp glint in his brown eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. For a moment, Abbie felt relief wash over her—had she guessed correctly? But before she could fully exhale, Maurice's laughter ceased abruptly, replaced by a slow, deliberate response. "You guessed wrong."

His words were calm and decisive. Two men stepped forward, each grabbing one of Abbie's arms. Dragged toward the estate gates, her face paled in disbelief. Was she wrong? Was Maurice really not planning revenge on Felicia? That didn't make sense!

"Mr. Glovers!" she shouted desperately, struggling against their grip. "Are you seriously going to let Felicia go after what she did to you?"

Her words hung unanswered. The heavy gates creaked open, and without another word, the men tossed her onto the dirt road outside.

Not far away, behind some trees, a car sat idling. Inside, two paparazzi, who had been camping out for days hoping to catch a juicy story involving the infamous Glovers family, perked up at the sudden movement.

"Finally! Something's happening!" one exclaimed.

"Wait, is that just a maid?" the other asked, puzzled.

"Who cares? Maybe she knows something. Let's talk to her and see if we can get a lead."

Excitedly, the two paparazzi approached Abbie. Dressed in a maid's uniform, Abbie kept her head habitually low, a reflex born from the scars that marred her once-beautiful face. Her pupils constricted in panic, especially now, flanked by two paparazzi. She turned and bolted, desperate to avoid being photographed in her current state.

"Hey, miss! Why are you running?" one of the paparazzi called after her, his voice sharp and incredulous.

That single "miss" froze Abbie for a split second, her footsteps faltering just enough for the two men to exchange a glance of confusion. The paparazzi immediately sprang into action. "Hey, miss! You work for the Glovers family, don't you? Have you seen a certain actress here—a big star, Abbie? She blew up a few months ago..."

His partner grabbed his arm, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"What are you doing? I wasn't done!" he snapped, irritated.

But his partner's eyes remained fixed on the maid. His expression shifted from confusion to dawning realization before he muttered in disbelief, "She looks like... Abbie."

"What?" The first paparazzo froze, his jaw slack.

Their eyes bored into Abbie, scrutinizing her scarred face as if trying to reconstruct the superstar she once was. Panicking, Abbie shoved them aside and bolted, running as fast as she could.

Not long ago, she had held all the power. She was an actress bathed in the limelight, her flawless image on every screen and poster. Fans adored her, rivals envied her, and even the most influential bowed in deference. But now, her ears were filled with phantom echoes of laughter and cruel jeers. The mocking tones of those who once envied her cut through her mind like a knife. Her face was destroyed; her beauty, a thing of the past. Even these eagle-eyed paparazzi hadn't recognized her right away.

Abbie broke down. It only took a moment of greed—a single wrong choice—and she ended up so miserably. There was no going back.